Oh Plot Bunny! Files #2: Numb
by rainjewel
Summary: Yeah, bet you all thought my numbering was way out of whack. Here's #2. Summary? I don't want to give too much away. Duo's POV. Angst.


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Oh Plot Bunny! Files #2: Numb

By: rainjewel

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Disclaimer: Do you really think that I could own the Gundam boys and not have them rampantly jumping each other during the series? Nyuh-uh. I don't own anything. 

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Timeline: After the series conclusion, EW, and all those other things. That means spoilers.

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Rating: R

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Warnings: Angst, as usual. Heavy and dark fic ahead here.

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Pairings: ??? 

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-----@

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There was a time you let me know

What's real and going on below

But now you never show it to me do you

And I remember when I moved in you

The holy dark was moving too

And every breath we drew was hallelujah

Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah

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I think the first thing I notice about the room is how cold it is. I'm surprised; usually Quatre's house is rather warm. Our little Arabian prince loves to be bathed in warmth, though he rarely needs to be. His mere presence causes the temperature to rise at least ten degrees. Even on his huge master bed he doesn't use any blankets, except for one in the shape of a Mr. Trowa Barton. I've never understood how he could manage without a heap of them (blankets that is, not Trowa).

I love blankets, especially in large amounts. I suppose that comes from living on the streets—you're always cold. Even in the agreeable Colony weather, the nights are always freezing cold. You can't keep the cruel iciness of space out forever. It stays with you, and it seems that the chill has permeated my skin and bones and has now claimed residency in my body. Nothing takes it away.

Well, check that. You do—did. I know you're still warm. When I reach out and touch your cheek, the heat of your skin almost burns my fingers. But it doesn't warm them, and in a second the sensation is lost.

You're sitting there in the chair, wearing a white terrycloth bathrobe. I saw Wufei in the hall on my way here, his hands clammy from the bath. His eyes, those exotic black jewels, were full of anger and guilt. He looked at me, but he didn't say anything. If I weren't so tired of feeling, I might have stopped and tried to tell him for the 'nth time that it wasn't his fault, that the Preventors weren't a bodyguard service, that there was no way he could of known. 

I shut the door. You always did call me lazy. But you used to do it with a kiss. Sometimes more.

I turn back around, loosely folding my arms across my front, my fingers brushing the handle of the handgun on my hip. I let my eyes drift over your lax profile. You haven't used your arms and legs on your own accord for months, but the muscles remain sculpted and ready for action. You're thinner than you used to be. I always said that institutions had poor nutrition. But we both know that's not the real reason. You've been out of the asylum for almost a full month and Trowa is undoubtedly one of the best cooks in the known universe. All four of us thought you'd be better off here.

A miscalculation indeed. However, I intend to correct that today. Not at this exact moment, no, I want to look at you some more. It used to hurt to look at you in this state. Not anymore. Your brown hair is as unruly and beautiful as ever. I've always envied it. So thick and the color of chocolate…people often wonder at my jealousy, given the fact that I'm the one lugging around the yard-long braid. They just don't know that it's there only as an old stale tribute to the dead. Your eyes are still the color of a stormy sky, but they no longer hold thunderous intensity or lightening-quick brilliance. And certainly no tears of rain.

Those fell only once, and it was when you lost her. As the last breath left her lips and those haunting blue eyes closed, I saw the silver drop slide down your face and neck. I remember it staining your tank top, a small dark patch just above your heart.

I remember feeling a detached sadness over her death, but there was a subtle hint of joy; joy that came from the knowledge you actually had the ability to cry. Of course, as to fit in with the sorry story of my life, a few seconds later your eyes and face shut down.

And I couldn't find the switch to turn you back on.

I remember having to lift you away from her body, slipping her golden locks from your bloody fingers. The stayed curled around her phantom locks the entire car ride home. In perfect clarity, I see myself mopping the blood from your body and dressing you for bed. Then I carried you to the bed and being cold as usual, I piled blanket upon blanket on top of us. I remember having to shut your eyelids myself. 

You never opened them again, not unless I did it for you. 

I'm never going to do it again.

I drop my hands to my sides. It feels like I should say something, try again to wake you from your "sleep." I won't do it though; I cried, yelled, and begged enough during the first few months. You're not going to wake up anyway. When she died I saw you die with her, your soul leaving with that spark in your eyes. And I am the authority on Death. I even was it once. 

I remove the gun from my hip and click the safety off. I get to fill Shinigami's shoes again. Fluidly I raise it so that the barrel is centered directly at your heart. I will never ruin your angelic face. I'm not worried about the shot though, despite the fact that I'll only have one chance. I went to the target range the past couple of days to hone my skills. I hit the bull's eye the first day, first shot.

Trowa and Quatre came into my room a month after her—_your_—death. They had heard my sobs through the door. I was lying on our bed, on my back, rigid as a board. I had covered my face with my hands, so I didn't see them come in, but I knew they were there when I felt them slip into bed beside me. Trowa's arms curled around my waist and Quatre ran his fingers running through my bangs, placing his angelic head on my shoulder.

Infiltration being Trowa's specialty, comfort (and on a lesser note, strategy) being Quatre's, together they coaxed me into telling them what was wrong. I remember curling onto my side, crying out into Quatre's throat, rambling on about my guilt.

They both told me I wasn't guilty, that it wasn't my fault you were this way. They were wrong.

I took away the one thing that might have saved her, might have saved you. That damn soldier that lived inside of you, I silenced him. With my charm learned from years of whoring, I poked and prodded your humanity until it rose to the surface. I managed to finally convince you that the war was over, it was time to relax and pack him away, back in that GI Joe box. For a good dose of irony, you obeyed me. You've always been obedient. And then when we needed to drag him back out, play with his tattered form one more time, I told you to relax, take a load off. Jeez, it's been two years and the country's at peace! Everyone loves her, so you don't need to keep thinking that there are assassins around every corner. You had reluctantly agreed, and we had sat down to watch her speech like regular civilians for the first time. I believe that's when the shots rang out, and her blue suit suddenly turned red.

I remember thinking that her suit was the same color as your eyes. 

Without blinking, I pull the trigger.

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*Click*

Empty. Should have known that it wouldn't be the first shot. That would be too easy, and you never made my life easy. I swear it was one of your "missions." Though, on some subconscious level I like the idea that this is dragging out, because it lets me look at you a little more. Right now the guilt in my memory is so poignant I can almost feel it.

It tried so hard to make your life easier, by getting rid of that soldier. It didn't make you love me though. If you had, you wouldn't have left with her. I never wanted you to die. I always wanted your happiness, and it wouldn't have mattered who you found it with.

I draw the gun back and press the barrel against my temple. There's no angel here.

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*Click*

Hmm…as usual, it's not my lucky day. But killing Shinigami has never been an easy task. I raise the gun again to your heart. 

Vaguely I think of how disappointed Wufei will be. I've shown him great strength, he says. He never saw me cry. To him I am still the braided baka, because I still smile for him on occasion. I still crack jokes at appropriate and inappropriate times alike. I eat everything Trowa serves up and watch movies with Quatre every Thursday and Sunday.

A slight twitch of the finger.

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*Click*

My turn again. I do believe my skin is colder than the metal pressed against it.

I'm a lot more patient now. I suppose that comes with the fact that I know I have all the time in the world to wait for you, since you're never coming back. But I'm tired now. I've always been one to burn hard and fast. I'm burnt black now, and there's nothing left. I am numb and unfeeling. 

Keeping one step in front of the walking dead has exhausted me.

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*Click*

One step more. Are you tired too Heero? Death was a grueling task for me as well. Let me relieve you from your exhaustion. I'll let you sleep forever. Perhaps I'll even be able to finally curl up beside you once again.

My hand is steady. I am pleased with my own strength and flex my hand.

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*Click*

It is so hard to kill something Shinigami has already taken. I wish he had taken such a liking to my soul years before. But then again, he can't take something that was never there. You have one more time to roll the dice with him. 

I've been playing with him for so long I seem to have gotten good at this game. As usual, I have terrible timing. An amusing thought. If it were a few weeks ago, I'd be laughing. Or at least grinning. Now all I can do is focus on the metal against my temple.

You do know that secretly, I always wished that you had loved me? Sometimes I let myself think you did. After all, it happened to me, the boy who swore off all love after the massacre of his family. Heero, in all that time I spent dredging up your humanity, was it possible that you came to care for me?

The numbness breaks, painfully so. I look into your blank blue eyes, and they give me my answer. I flinch and pull the trigger.

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*BAM*

Shit shit shit. Wasn't supposed to twitch.

I find myself on the floor, feeling for the first time in a great while. The pain is exquisite—I can't recall the last time I felt something so lovely. I open my mouth and laugh, feeling an unpleasant wetness welling up in my throat and spilling down my chin. I can't hear the laughter; the gunshot has deafened me.

Of course I couldn't have died instantly. Shinigami is one tough son-of-a-bitch to take down. Still, I wonder at how I could have been so stupid as to flinch.

I suppose I am forever the braided baka.

I feel a pang of anxiety. Someone would have hared the shot. Damn, Quatre's going to be so sad, so upset. I don't want to see him cry. Jesus, don't make me see that!

The pain is dissipating. Won't be long now…it's starting to get cold. Ah, I knew I couldn't keep it at bay for long. Despite this warm blanket that I feel billowing beneath my head, the coldness is still there, overbearing and relentless as ever.

I relax, feeling something close to peace. Soon, soon I'll see you. I've waited so long for you to come back, but now you're coming to me. I don't think I'll even mind if she's there with you.

Oh, you're here already? I see your beautiful face over me and your hands on my arms. Funny, I thought I had to die before…before—why are you looking at me like that? Your eyes are wide and panicked. I see your lips saying my name over and over.

Are you worried? You care enough to worry? God, I never thought you did. Oh, don't be worried, love. I'm finally here to stay with you! Now we can be together forever. I'm not leaving…not leaving…

Jeez, it's dark. I can barely see you now, but your face is shimmering. Why are there tears on your face? Stop crying, please. There's nothing her but…but me…and—and you…you…

Heero?

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Maybe there's a God above

And maybe all I learned from was love

Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you

And it's not a cry you can hear at night

It's not somebody who's seen the light

It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah

Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah

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Owari.

Author's Note: Yes, it is possible to survive a gunshot to the head. There are many places in which a bullet can go through the brain and still leave the person unaffected. I don't know the exact places or how the entire thing works, but I have heard stories from gunshot survivors and EMTs. I decided to take some liberties. J 

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Disclaimer: The quotes are from Rufus Wainwright's "Hallelujah." Glory to Rufus.


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